“I need to know about baby chickens. And mollymoochers.”

Blonde hair pulled tight into a ponytail, blue eyes bright with questions,

she is eighteen, a soldier already

and yet here she is on my porch with her friend,

both rocking gently as rain drips cadence.

I talk, explaining chick starter and water and a lamp for heat

and then my husband takes the girls into the woods

to search for the elusive morel in the darkness

of leaf mold and a cloudy afternoon.

When they return, I dip mushrooms in milk, roll them in flour

and drop them into a cast iron skillet. Oil sizzles and splatters,

a golden aroma drenches the room as we pull up our chairs and sit,

a small circle around a worn porcelain-topped kitchen table.

The mushrooms taste sweet as the moment, as this rare time

spent with a granddaughter who drove out our lonely road

to hunt for mushrooms and learn about chickens.


(photo of yellow morels is from Wikipedia)

About grannysu

storyteller, writer, poet, gardener, countrywoman
This entry was posted in home, NaPoWriMo, nature and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to Visitors

  1. Beautiful! (and incredible that that cute baby girl has grown up in the blink of an eye 😉

  2. grannysu says:

    Yes it is Mary. Didn’t you make her an apple hat?

  3. Beautiful. My grandaughter is in boot camp right now. She is doing well. I’m amazed at these girls who have such strong ambitions. They give us such inspiration, such as the above poem. Love it.

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